Sanctuary
by Speed of Darkness
Summary: Post-Avengers, Pre-War of the Ring, After his failure to conquer Midgard, Loki needs to disappear, Having burned pretty much every bridge to sanctuary in the known part of the universe, he flees to a far off realm, landing in a dark forest, called Mirkwood by its strange inhabitants, But is this really the sanctuary he was seeking? Rated for language,
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hello. This is an Avengers/Hobbit crossover fic, written upon the insistence of my two friends, known in my fics as "Joslyn" and "Kristen" and inserted here under their elvish personas "Galawyn" and "Caraphin". I have already finished writing it and am in the process of revising and dividing it into chapters. It currently amounts to about 16.5K words. Sequels are in the process of being written.**

**Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged, but please do remember that I wrote this to amuse myself and my friends, and I post this in hopes that others may also derive amusement from it. Therefore, please don't leave comments that will make me feel bad about my writing. Thanks :D**

* * *

**Warnings: Language, allusion to adult themes, drunkenness, mildly graphic violence, occasionally devolution into crackfic. Rated M mostly just for the language.**

* * *

Quite a bit of intergalactic running had taken him here, so much so that he wasn't exactly sure where 'here' was. Despite this mildly inconvenient lack of knowledge, Loki of Asgard was fairly confident that he had, for the time being, given his enemies the slip.

He was a little the worse for wear: he swayed a little as he stood, his hands shook with exhaustion, dark circles could be found under green eyes that were temporarily without a mischievous glint. Not to mention, he had somewhere along his mad dash out of danger lost his awesome gold helmet. He hoped he would not need it here, in what appeared to be a dark forest in an unknown realm.

No sooner had that hope formed in his thoughts than it was dashed as a colossal spider fell out of a tree a mere meter from where he stood.

_Gah_! shouted his internal voice as he blasted it away from him with what energy he could scrape from the bottom of his reserve.

"Not bad!" called a female voice from high above his head. Even as his head snapped up to locate the speaker and his still-glowing staff rose in anticipation of conflict, he realized how exceedingly tired he was—skipping through space had been as taxing as it always was.

"No worries, obviously lost traveler!" Loki was able to locate the voice, which was coming from a humanoid figure perched in a shadowy tree. "I am the embodiment of your long-overdue stroke of luck! Now come with me before more of them show up and eat your devilishly handsome face!"

She either understood his silent acquiescence or expected his unquestioning compliance, as she at once descended from the tree with a sort of functional grace and led him through the darkness. The surrounding forest teemed with unseen life, some of its creatures emanating fear, others malice. Loki had no wish to meet any of them in his current state of distasteful weakness, so he hastened to stay with the quick-footed silhouette of the girl ahead of him.

"And here we are," she said with a dramatic gesture to their surroundings, which looked exactly the same as any other spot of forest Loki had seen thus far. "You're welcome. I'll leave you here, as I've got better places to be tonight!" And she bounded off before Loki had even decided what answer to demand of her first.

"Where am I?" he called in annoyance.

"I am more interested in who you are," spoke someone off to his right.

"I am lost. Could you tell me where I am?" he requested benignly as he vainly searched the darkness for the body to whom this voice belonged.

"Lost, you say? You are lost indeed. Fortunately, you are lost in Northern Mirkwood, and those who dwell beneath this leafy canopy may well help you find yourself."

"Who are you?"

"I am Tathar," said the voice, still not revealing itself. "A happy and humble guard on this fine night, no more or less."

"Are you corporeal, Tathar?" Loki inquired with what would come off as perfect politeness.

"An interesting question indeed!" Tathar exclaimed. "I am not entirely sure. I do possess a body that can be seen and touched, but it is entirely within the realms of possibility that I am a mere resident within this body which is not my self, in which case my self would most likely be of the intangible variety."

"I do not believe your claim to a body, as I cannot see it," Loki challenged.

"You are peculiar indeed, if you only believe what your eyes can behold," commented Tathar, stepping up to Loki out of the shadows. "But if you insist on seeing, I am here to be seen."

Loki observed a young face set with distracted blue eyes and surrounded by shoulder-length blonde hair. Somehow, Tathar's being was emitting its own subtle glow, just enough to see by. Neither the face nor the voice had confirmed Tathar's gender, but Loki guessed him to be male. He would be careful not to use gender-specific pronouns until he had more faith in that assessment.

"So you do have a body," Loki observed. "As have I. Mine happens to be on the brink of exhaustion at the moment, so if you would be so kind, my good Tathar, I would be directed to a place safe enough to take a few hours' rest."

"But of course," the cheerful guard replied. "If you would but give your word that you mean my people no harm and will cause no mischief here."

Loki held back a laugh. His _word_? "I know not your people, nor do I bear any ill will towards them." And he left it at that.

"Good! Come with me!"

* * *

Despite his exhaustion, Loki was able to be truly astonished that the _imbecile_ guard had managed to trick _him_. He hated having his oldest weapon turned against him, and wielded by one so utterly unworthy. Bah!

If he had been more alert, he might have thought thrice before accepting the proffered water. He might have checked it for poison or enchantment. But Tathar seemed so genuinely amicable; mistaking him for simple, Loki had underestimated him in a manner that would be _embarrassing_ if anyone he knew ever came to hear of it.

This passed through his mind as the enchanted water began to take its effect. After a few moments, he was too disoriented to think much more, and not long after that the entirety of everything crashed down and dragged him into unconsciousness.

"Alright, Galawyn," Tathar said, heaving the unconscious form over his shoulder. "Who is this?"

"I have no idea," the girl, Galawyn, replied, reappearing from amongst the dark tangle of tree limbs. "But it seemed rather harsh to let him get eaten by the spiders when he probably came to enjoy our amazing elfish hospitality."

"I don't think he did," Tathar corrected. "He did mention being lost."

"That'd be my excuse too if I was trying to sneak into an elfish rave party," Galawyn chuckled into the darkness, defying it as though it had long ago ceased to intimidate her. "We must inform the king of our party crasher."

"Of course. Now that the threat is neutralized, I'll go find him somewhere safe to stay. Then I'll go deliver the message. Stand my guard while I take care of this."

"Sure, sure," she said as she ascended into a comfortable tree and opened her senses to the surroundings. "But be back quick—I've got places to be."

* * *

Loki awoke slowly, despite the fact that a part of him was ringing every alarm bell in his head, stressing that the external world had created a situation that demanded his immediate attention. He hated that part of himself even though it had done a stellar job so far of keeping him alive.

He noted trees above him, small amounts of bright light filtering green through the leaves. Forest sounds surrounded him, but nothing was very close.

Someone watched him.

This someone was a dark-haired young woman who observed him with catlike hazel eyes. She was armed with what looked to be a light metal rod with a large netted loop on one end. Her mouth curved in a smirk when she noticed his observation.

"See anything you like?" she challenged, and he recognized her voice as the one who had led him to Tathar.

He considered her for a moment before obliging her challenge. "You are not the foulest alien I have ever seen." Her eyes widened in surprise that he had returned her lip. "Who are you?" Loki asked as he sat up and stretched.

"Who are _you_?"

"I asked you first," he protested.

Unimpressed, she replied, "I asked you second. Also, seeing as your face owes me after I saved it from being spider food, I call in its debt to answer the first question."

"I am Loki," said his very handsome face.

"And I—" she swept her arms wide in a dramatic reveal "—am Galawyn, proud supporter of interspecies relations, as evidenced by my willingness to stomach your presence, you gorgeous round-eared freak."

"What are your ears, if not round?" was probably not the most to-the-point question Loki could have asked, but he excused himself on the grounds of being drugged.

"Oh, wanna see some elf skin, do you?" she teased, but obligingly pulled back her dark tresses to show off her pointed ears.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked.

"Hold up!" she scolded. "It's my turn to ask a question. Jeez, let a lady have a chance to speak, unmannered foreigner!"

"You confuse me with my boorish brother," he corrected her coolly. "I am very well-mannered. Please, my lady, ask away."

"Why are you here?"

"As a general rule, I don't wrestle with existential conundrums after having just awoken. Try again."

She took no time to consider before blurting, "Are you single?"

"Short answer—yes." He didn't bother asking why she wanted to know; she had already dropped a few unbidden compliments to his appearance. He thought of how better to use his question.

"This forest we are in—where is it?"

"This forest, Mirkwood as it is now commonly called, lies between the Ered Mithrin and the realm of Gondor."

"I have never heard of these places. What realm is this?"

"You lied! You are not well-mannered at all. You have stolen my question again! You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

As Loki was currently at a disadvantage in terms of knowledge and power to this people he had bumped into inadvertently, he knew it would be a poor strategic move to kill one of their own, even if that one was remarkably impertinent. Best just to toy words with her until he developed a workable counter-plan.

"My sincerest apologies, my lady," he said, dialing up the charm with a smile.

"Well, the sexy smile means you get forgiveness. You know, you're lucky you're pretty, or else I would probably have fed you to the spiders already."

His smile twisted, but he said nothing—he did not divulge the secrets of his false face to anyone who brought it up in conversation.

"So if you have never heard of us before, how can you speak our language?"

"I am a god, you dull creature; I understand all languages of gods and lesser beings such as yourself."

"Hey, I resent that! And there's no way _you_ are a god. A god wouldn't be wandering lost through Mirkwood at night, nearly getting eaten and then getting drugged by a 'lesser being'. And you've completely shattered any claim to courtesy."

"We have already established that I lied about the manners. Despite what you have falsely concluded, I am a god; what manner of creatures are your people?"

"Sex gods," she answered with a perfectly straight face. "Also known as Silvan elves. Skeptical?" she asked in response to his raised eyebrows. "Well, we may look pretty tame in the day, but once the sun goes down and the good wine starts flowing…" She left the end of her sentence hanging. "We'll have to get you to one of the good parties while you're with us. In the meantime, answer me this: where do you come from?"

"A place very far away. Who leads you?"

"An elf," Galawyn answered indifferently.

"That," Loki protested, "Is hardly an answer."

"Neither," Galawyn pointed out, "Was yours."

Loki sighed, prompting a little feeling of triumph in the elf for her success in being annoying. "Fine. I come from a realm called Asgard, which is so far away from this realm that the distance can only be traversed with magic. My home is a grand city full of people who are collectively too loud for my own tastes. The man who raised me is the king. Is that sufficient to merit a real answer?"

"Passable, I suppose," Galawyn allowed. "The Elvenking is Thranduil, a Sindarin elf who has ruled over the Woodland Realm for millennia. He's tall and blonde, and he wears a crown made out of sticks—don't even ask, I have no idea."

"I will refrain from putting this question to you."

"Very good. Now how did you get here?"

"Magic."

"I told you: no non-answers."

"I told you: no existential questions this soon after rising."

Galawyn frowned at him. "We can do this half-answer game all day, but it would be much preferable to go find a good party instead. So how did you get here?"

Loki divulged, "It was by use of a magic too complex to explain to someone who is not well versed on the subject. I had not had time to fix a destination in mind, as my enemies were in hot pursuit at my heels. I was tired, so I amassed what capacity for magic still lingered inside my body and magically threw myself as far away as I could. I ended up here, for which I ought to count myself lucky—there are far worse realms in which I could have landed." He shuddered to think of the possibilities.

"There are far worse places within this realm too, so you're very lucky. Also, I was there to keep your face from being eaten by spiders, so you're extraordinarily lucky. Have you always been extraordinarily lucky?"

"Now, now, impertinent girl, it's my turn to ask: have you always been this outspoken?"

Galawyn grinned, showing all her teeth in a way that seemed almost feral. "Only with the gentlemen—or not-so-gentle-men—that I find attractive. Have you always been so extraordinarily lucky?"

"Most definitively not," Loki admitted truthfully. "I would say that this is a first."

"Are you up for a second?"

"My lady Galawyn! However am I meant to interpret that?"

Her eyebrows arched, and she replied smoothly, "Interpret that as a non-declinable invitation to the best party of your sad and empty life."

Loki raised his eyebrows to mimic her expression. "I am breathless with anticipation," his very handsome face replied with sarcasm all over it.

"You'd better be. However, before I'm allowed to take you around, I'm supposed to bring you to the king."

"What does your king want with me?"

She shrugged. "Not my business, but he's probably suspicious of your popping up unannounced as using an unknown magic within our realm during a time of war."

"What war?"

"It's no big deal—just some stupid ugly smelly creatures who are so sad with their pathetic lives and jealous of how awesome we elves are that they occasionally attack us. It's the highlight of their miserable lives."

"Hmm. How very strange to see what elitism looks like from the outside."

"We have lots in common," Galawyn agreed.

Loki would admit that she had a certain aura of mischief about her, but he would not go so far as to call them alike. The elf girl had not seen nearly enough life.

Galawyn prodded him with the netted end of her metal staff. "Let's go, alien prisoner, move it. We've got an Elvenking to see."

* * *

Loki observed that this place was very different from Asgard. Where one was halls of grandeur, the other was tunnels of tree branches; where one was noisy, boisterous crowds, the other was silent, fleeting figures darting amongst the trees.

He wondered if it was too soon to decide to like this place.

Galawyn led him through the city without giving him much chance to look around or speak to the inhabitants, but that was fine by him. He was quite anxious to meet this Thranduil character, who would hopefully grant him permission to stay here for the time being. Not only did he need a safe place to build his magic back up, Loki also sensed that there was magic here that he had not yet encountered—curiosity ensued.

In no time at all, Galawyn was leading him before a grand throne seemingly grown out of the ground. It was somehow all the more imposing and majestic for the fact that it was simply a piece of nature. There was a figure on the throne, wearing a crown of branches and surveying them mutely as they entered, and another standing nearby, watching with wary eyes.

The elf on the throne grinned at Galawyn. "Heeeeyyyyy, gurl," it drew out enthusiastically. "Where did you find that yummy one?"

And the little redheaded elf hopped down from the throne and stood right before Loki.

"Who are you?" she asked, and continued without giving him a chance to answer, "Are you single? Are you gay? If you were that'd be fucking depressing, but I'd still keep you around because you, sir, are eye candy."

Loki stared at her, bemused, before venturing to guess, "You are not Thranduil?"

"No, I'm not Thranduil. Do I look like fucking Thranduil? 'Cause I'm not fucking Thranduil. Though I wish I was, not in the being-him sense, in the fucking-him sense. I'm Caraphin, by the way, because my parents are fucking cruel, and decided to name me something that literally means 'red hair'." She tossed her head, making the green light shine metallically off the crimson locks held down by the crown.

"What are you doing in here?" Galawyn asked her. "And why are you wearing the king's crown?"

"I am in here," she explained, "Because I do what I want. And I am wearing the crown," she pointed to the object on her head, "Because I do what I fucking want. Any questions?"

"Why are _you_ here?" Galawyn asked the young male elf that was watching Caraphin with extreme patience.

"I am here because she is here," he answered in a voice that was probably incapable of shouting. "And she needs someone to watch over her at all times."

"Aww, you're so sweet!" Caraphin told him. "And so fucking sexy. Now be a dear," she removed the crown from her head, "And put this back where we found it before Thranduil notices it's missing."

The elf nodded, smiled an adorably sweet smile, and left with the crown.

"That was Althadar," Galawyn explained for Loki's benefit.

"He's mine," Caraphin warned. "Don't touch."

"I will most certainly not touch anything of yours," Loki said with evident disdain.

Caraphin narrowed her eyes, but made no remark.

Galawyn told her, "We need to speak to the king, but that shouldn't take all day. What is the plan for tonight?"

"The plan for tonight is the same as the plan for last night and every other night: there is no plan."

"Sounds like a plan! If you don't mind, we'll join you, seeing as I finally have a sexy date!"

"Finally!" Caraphin agreed. "Although I suspect that one will eventually turn out to be gay." She eyed Loki critically. Loki eyed her back.

"See anything you like?" he echoed Galawyn.

"Oh no. Immortal gods, no. No, you see, I've got Althadar in reality and Thranduil in my imagination. So no. Just no. Life is not a garden, so it's my philosophy to not be a 'ho."

Galawyn smiled. "Thanks, Caraphin, I know you're only saying that because you want me to have him. That's mighty nice of you."

"I have a question," Loki inserted politely. "Is your very forward banter typical societal conversation amongst your race? For I wish to know how to appropriately address your king when I do have the privilege of meeting him."

Galawyn and Caraphin exchanged a look.

"Yup," said Galawyn. "Definitely."

"Thranduil would not expect anything else. Cursing and speculation over sexual orientation. That's what passes for normal around here."

"Liars," Althadar scolded, coming back one crown lighter. "It passes for normal between the two of them, but anyone else would be shocked and scandalized."

"Althadar!" Caraphin whined. "Why're you always eating fun?"

"I'm not; good clean fun is fine in my books. Yours never is."

Caraphin waved off that comment as though she had not heard it.

"We should go," he continued. "Remember what happened last time you were in the presence of the king?"

"No," she denied petulantly.

"Well I'm sure _he_ does. C'mon." The little redheaded elf was escorted from the throne room.

No sooner had the pair left than an anxious whisper sounded from seemingly nowhere: "_Is she gone_?"

"Yep," said Galawyn. "The coast is clear."

And lo and behold, there was an elf king in their midst.

"You will have to excuse me for that," said Thranduil. "But I truly have _not_ forgotten the last time I saw dearest Caraphin. I find it unlikely that I ever will."

Poor, traumatized elf king.

He continued, "Thank you, young Galawyn, for bringing our guest to me. You are free to go now."

"I think I'd better stay, actually," Galawyn advised. "I don't think you're quite up to dealing with his snark, Your Majesty."

"_My_—!" began Loki, outraged at her nerve.

"I shall deal with it to the best of my ability," Thranduil told her seriously. "Now scram."

Galawyn smacked Loki on the ass with her weird weapon as she walked past him on her way out.

"We're still on for tonight!" she called over her shoulder.

Thranduil's response to Loki's slightly dumbfounded look was to assure him that such behavior was quite normal for that particular elf. He then proceeded to give the self-acclaimed god a civil interrogation and they together enjoyed an intellectual discussion of arcane magic. This meeting ended with the two well on their way to becoming friends and Loki with an open invitation to stay as long as he pleased.

"You had best go find Galawyn then," Thranduil advised as they parted. He answered Loki's incredulous look, "She'll just track you down if you don't."

"Are these parties that she is so keen to drag me to safe?"

"On a scale of dandelions to apocalypse, elfish parties typically ranged from large explosions to inter-dimensional war in terms of danger. That's what makes them fun." Loki suspected the king might be joking. "Now as I'm sure you understand, I do have other matters to attend to, so I shall take my leave of you here."

The Elvenking was not a full minute gone when Loki was again captured by his 'date', who was threatening him with such menacing phrases as 'get you ready for the party' and 'Caraphin has ideas'.

* * *

"Galawyn, are you intoxicated?" Loki asked the slightly wobbly elf. "I was only gone for three minutes! _Seriously, what did you drink_?"

"Uhhhh…this," she replied, holding out a goblet of some sweet-smelling liquid, some of which sloshed over the edge.

"And I suppose it is beyond your current capacity to inform me of what that is?"

"Jerk…iss my turnna assa quession!" Loki rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Where is Caraphin? I don't want to babysit you." He thought about that, then rescinded. "Actually, where is Althadar? I don't know what I was thinking with Caraphin."

They were in a sea of elves under a darkening forest canopy. Voices and laughter formed a solid wall of noise, augmented somewhere by the sweet torture of instruments and vocal chords. As a stranger among familiars, he garnered less attention than he anticipated, although he still was able to capitalize on a few opportunities to meet the natives.

He looked back at Galawyn, wrenched the goblet out of her hands, and downed it in one gulp. "I hope it's as potent as you make it look." And he pulled her by the wrist through the crowd, looking for the familiar sensible elf or the loud redhead he was likely to be attached to.

He found the latter relatively quickly, as she was one of very few elves with locks of that bold hue. She seemed to be half-buried under a number of young male elves, with Althadar standing with his arms crossed a few feet away.

"Caraphin, what are you doing?" Loki asked helplessly.

"With the aid of these fine spirits," she told him loudly, "I have come to a brilliant realization."

"…which is?" Loki prompted.

"We're elves. We live in a fucking garden." And then Caraphin was no longer interested in conversing with Loki.

Loki turned to Althadar. "Are _you_ drunk?"

The elf shook his head. "I do not partake in this revelry. I am here because she is here."

Loki decided that he liked this elf a lot, but he also decided that this would not cause him to so much as hesitate in pawning off a delirious girl on him.

"Well, as the designated sober person, you can have one more drunk girl to babysit," he said, offering the elf the wrist that he still held and the girl attached to it.

"One more…? Oh, Caraphin's not drunk. She's had a few, but her tolerance is too high for it to bother her at all. This is merely her typical bad judgment and is not at all caused by alcohol."

"Then what's wrong with her?" Loki asked, indicating Galawyn.

Althadar shrugged. "That's not something within my power to answer."

**[JSYK, they're playing Twister. Joslyn's dirty mind came up with something entirely different. Shame on Joslyn.]**

* * *

Loki usually was not the type to mingle. He was usually the type to observe partygoers from the periphery, but curiosity once again got the better of him. With each new person he talked to, he learned more of this alien race and this unheard of realm.

Loki liked learning things—knowledge was power. So even if socialization was not a favorite pastime, he was happy to now employ his infamous silver tongue in winning over some elfish hearts.

The longer the night wore on, the more the elves drank, and the ease with which he loosened their tongues increased. He saw a thousand prime opportunities for pranks, but he reluctantly dismissed them until such a time as he better understood the place and circumstances.

He had just sighted a seventeenth person to engage as a conversation partner and was making his way over to his target when he bumped into a figure and knocked his drink out of his hand. The half-formed apology died on his lips and he started in surprise as he recognized the Elvenking.

**[Thranduil had shutter shades. The drunken elves painted the trees. Joslyn hijacked this story. The end.]**

Loki's brain was stuck somewhere between '_the Elvenking attends rave parties_?' and '_what the **** is he wearing_?' Fortunately, his tongue, on autopilot, spoke for him, "My sincerest apologies, friend. I had not anticipated seeing you here."

The elf grinned crookedly. "And why is that?" he asked almost playfully, another drink materializing in his hand.

"…Ah, forgive me, it is just that the rulers of the realms I have visited have conducted themselves differently," Loki justified weakly, trying in vain to picture Odin at a party like this one. Then he had to wonder why Thranduil was laughing quietly and shaking his head.

"If you can still speak so flawlessly and with that much tact," the elf explained, "Then either we are very much amiss in our hospitality or you have had much practice staying sober at such gatherings. I assure you, there is no need to here." And he conjured another goblet, which he handed to Loki.

It tasted funny, but Loki refrained from asking if it was safe. These people had already drugged him once, and they had as good as told him this would intoxicate him. He guessed that the king had not given him anything that would surpass his tolerance.

* * *

Loki was wrong.

* * *

Althadar found him just before dawn and removed him from the tree branch he was draped over. The elf was puzzled as to why his charge had an unidentifiable purple substance smeared over half of his face and how he had ended up with Thranduil's crown sitting sideways on his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Hi again! To my surprise and delight, a few people have actually found this obscure little fic and it's even received a follow! So if you're reading this note, just know that you are showing up in my story stats and I appreciate you.

* * *

Loki decided that Althadar was undisputedly his favorite elf.

He and Galawyn were sitting in the most amazing treehouse he had ever laid eyes on. It was shared by Althadar and Caraphin, who, he learned, were life-mates. He sat across their small kitchen table from a young elf who was just as horridly hung over as he was. Althadar had left them each with a glass of water and had gone to return Thranduil's crown.

By mutual agreement and inability, they refrained from conversation and movement. Loki was still trying to remember what had happened last night, the fact that he was unsuccessful bothering him greatly. The last thing he remembered was seeing the Elvenking pulling some astonishingly spirited dance moves and then something about a strange-colored fire and then he was waking up to an incredible pain in his head in Althadar's living room.

The door banged open and the two cringed. Caraphin strutted into the room.

"What are you people doing in my house?" the redhead asked suspiciously. "You didn't come back here to fool around last night, did you? 'Cause that is _not okay_. Not. Okay."

"Noooooooo," moaned Galawyn.

"We did no such thing," Loki guessed. "Where have _you_ been?"

"At the party," she said as though it should be obvious. "Only lightweights like you two leave before dawn."

She started banging around pots and pans in the kitchen _very loudly_. "Want breakfast?"

"Uh huh," said Galawyn, putting her head down on the table.

"So, I heard you had a really interesting night last night, Loki," Caraphin said _very loudly_.

"What are you talking about?" the god bit out, his head in his hands.

"What, don't remember it?" she laughed.

Loki growled, which she took as an admission.

"Well, let's just say that the king has decreed that you come to every party," she said, still giggling. "I think you showed him a pretty good time."

"Noooooo, my date," Galawyn protested, snagging Loki's wrist as though to prevent him escaping.

"Figures, only you could lose your guy to another man," Caraphin teased loudly.

"Fuck you," Galawyn said.

"Wait." Loki held up a hand, the other pressed against his aching head. "What did I do with the king?"

Caraphin laughed again, and Galawyn glared daggers at her. "Oh, I don't know," she lied to the god of lies, "I kept trying to get to you, but whenever Thranduil spotted me, he always grabbed you and went somewhere else. Eventually I just figured you two were sneaking off to make hot impassioned love, so I left you alone."

Loki stared at her and thought back, trying to remember if he had slept with anyone last night. Deciding he needed to ask Althadar if he had been fully clothed when he found him, he told the still giggling Caraphin, "Fuck you."

"Tolja he was implite," Galawyn managed.

"Fuck you too," his hangover said. "It's not like you managed to make it through last night without embarrassing yourself."

"Of course she did," Caraphin informed him. "Althadar was keeping an eye on her, like he always does. Although, I would personally be very embarrassed if I got that drunk on a few sips of hard lemonade."

"Just shut up and get me my peanut butter."

"Ingrate."

* * *

A few hours later, when hangovers had diminished and curiosity had grown, Galawyn was dragging Loki back to Thranduil's throne room. After having been assured by the ever-helpful Althadar that he had indeed been clothed at the time he had been recovered, Loki was very anxious to ask Thranduil what the hell had happened last night.

They found the elf king on his throne, his legs tossed over one arm and his head resting on the other. There were dark glasses over his eyes, so they could not tell whether or not he might be asleep.

"Pardon us, Your Majesty," Loki spoke up.

Thranduil turned his head to look at them with an expression that clearly said '_I'm sleeping here, bitch_' and spoke, "What do you want?"

"Loki here can't remember anything from last night," Galawyn offered. "And he and I were wondering whether or not you two made hot impassioned love."

Thranduil's face didn't change at all, but it seemed as though he must surely be staring at Loki from behind his dark glasses.

Loki's face, conversely, changed quite a bit at Galawyn's words. It became a very interesting color and appeared to be laboring in vain to come up with the elusive words that would make what she just said not so glaringly inappropriate.

"You don't remember?" Thranduil clarified.

Loki shook his head.

The elf bounded to his feet. "I am _offended_!" he said in an incredulous voice, pressing a hand over his heart. "Last night was _special_! How could you not remember?"

Before Loki could fail to come up with a coherent response, Galawyn retorted, "_I'm_ offended! You stole my date!"

"Hmph! You shoulda put a ring on it!"

"It was totally classless of you to take him when he was _mine_!"

"Perhaps you shouldn't have gotten so drunk then!"

"It's not my fault that your body handles that poison better than mine!"

"Well, it's not my fault that you can't hold on to a man!"

Galawyn gasped. "Well _fuck you_."

"Fuck you too! Or better yet, why don't I fuck him instead!" he shouted, pointing to Loki.

"WHAT STRANGE REALM DID I LAND IN?"

The cat-fighting elves fell silent and turned to stare at Loki. Then the corner of Thranduil's mouth twitched, and before long he was laughing. "Ah ha ha, I jest, I jest! I assure you, no such thing as young Caraphin fabricated passed between us last night."

"Oh," said Galawyn.

"Then what did happen?"

"I discovered that you are quite weepy when intoxicated. You told me many very sad stories, and you cried on my shoulder. I have become fond of you." He sniffed, the false hurt coming back into his words. "I _told_ you: last night was _special_!"

_Aw, shit_. "I apol—" Loki started.

"What did he tell you?" Galawyn spoke over him. "I _have_ to know what skeletons this pretty boy's got in his closet."

**~BREAK FROM REALITY~**

"Enough to fill a very long, sad fanfic with," Thranduil said somberly.

"My king!" shouted a harried elf as he burst into their presence. "The fourth wall has been breached! You must attend to this immediately!"

Thranduil looked at him blankly. "What?"

"We don't have four walls," Galawyn pointed out. "We're a city built out of trees."

"No! No! No!" the elf screamed. "The fourth wall is a literary term referring to the imaginary line between the fiction of the characters and the reality of the reader. You breached it when you referenced fanfiction, essentially breaking the illusion of contained reality our world previously had."

Thranduil continued to stare at him. "So?"

"So!? Everyone knows that the quality of writing in any piece of literature decreases exponentially from the initial point of breach of the fourth wall! Do you want that to happen? Because in that reality, the author probably will have you fucking Loki, because, hey, screw the rules!"

"Well…"

"Excuse me," said Loki to the elf. "But aren't you just blowing this 'fourth wall' even further open by making a scene about it?"

"Yeah," reasoned Galawyn. "The mention would have just passed by otherwise, I hardly even registered it. It was like a little ding in the wall. But now you've gone and blow a gargantuan hole in the wall! Nobody, not even someone who has ADD and only skims this **[ATTENTION KRISTEN ATTENTION KRISTEN]** could _possibly_ miss this conversation!"

"I…I…"

"You're fired," said Thranduil. "Now scram."

The elf fled.

"Now where were we?"

"I'm not sure," lied Loki, hoping for a subject change.

"Well, it was nice to see you again," said Thranduil before dropping back onto his throne and going back to his nap.

"That was weird," noted Galawyn. "You'd think this author's, like, concussed or something."

"Maybe," Loki thought aloud. "Or maybe she's just being pressured to write by an impatient audience when she doesn't have the inspiration for it."

"She should just tell them no," Galawyn pointed out. "This uninspired writing isn't as entertaining."

"She is literally having her characters speculate about her and comment on her writing. I don't even think this counts as fanfiction anymore. It's just a thinly veiled attempt to guilt her audience into ceasing their incessant pestering."

"Seriously, I bet they're being really obnoxious about it," Galawyn speculated. "We should do something so that they get the message to stop."

Loki thought about it for a little while. "Wanna go have a threesome with Gollum?"

Galawyn grinned hugely. "Let's do it!"

"This'll sure get their attention! But after this is accomplished, I think the author should probably go back and delete all this nonsense, don't you?"

"Absolutely. This story still has potential."

**~BACK TO REALITY~**

Thranduil shook his head. "If he wants to tell you, that's his decision. However, I do recommend that you are not sparing in your affection, for he has not received enough of it. Have you any further concerns?"

"No, Your Majesty," answered Loki immediately, although he was still a little curious about the nature of the sticky purple goo that was on his face. "Thank you for your time."

"Anytime," said the elf king with a smile. "You may not remember how it happened, but we are friends now, Master Silvertongue."

They took their leave then, Galawyn barely waiting until they were out of earshot to ask, "What did he call you?"

"Silvertongue. It's just another one of my many names." Loki shrugged.

**~BREAK FROM REALITY~**

"Do you have any other names?" Loki asked conversationally.

"Yep," said Galawyn. "On Midgard, I'm Joslyn. In Physics class, I'm 99.9% nothing. When I'm in my Animagus form, which is a tiny white dog, my name is TahQuisha; when I'm in my Transformer form, I'm a black jeep named FUP. But of all my names, I prefer Galawyn, so that's what you should call me."

"…okay."

**~BACK TO REALITY~**

"What other names do you have?" Galawyn asked.

"I think I will require a bit of information from you before I answer that."

"And what makes you think you're entitled to that?" she challenged.

"You don't know what I'm going to ask!"

"But you know that I'm going to be difficult about answering!"

Loki grinned suddenly, changing his mind. "We'll see about that," he alluded, walking faster back towards the treehouse.

"Wait, what?" She scrambled to keep up with him as he laughed in a way that made Galawyn think that perhaps she ought to be afraid.

They walked in to find Caraphin sitting at the kitchen table across from her quiet mate, eating what Loki thought resembled Midgardian mac 'n cheese.

"Isn't it a bit early for lunch?" Galawyn asked.

"Of course," said Caraphin. "Lunch is in an hour. Would you like to join us for elevensies?"

Galawyn rolled her eyes and vowed never to go on one of Caraphin's crazy diets. This "Shire diet" didn't even make sense.

"No thanks," she declined. "I believe I need to answer a question of Loki's that has for some unfathomable reason yet to be forthcoming."

"Hmm?"

"Thranduil called Loki 'Silvertongue', which is how I found out that he has a bunch of other names. But he said he wouldn't tell me any more until I answered his question, which he somehow believes I will want to answer."

"Whoa there, hold the phone!" Caraphin exclaimed.

~**BREAK FROM REALITY~**

"What's a phone?" asked Althadar.

**~BACK TO REALITY~**

"What?"

"Silvertongue? He's called _Silvertongue_?"

"Yes, why?" asked Loki.

"There is only _one_ way you can get that name and make it stick!" Caraphin explained before looking over to Galawyn and saying seriously, "Thou hast chosen well."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Like I've never heard that one before!"

"So?" asked a giggling ginger. "Was that how you got it?"

"No, actually, I've acquired that nickname as a result of being a rather persuasive speaker."

"Well, you've yet to impress me," Galawyn muttered. "So I'll just call you Loki, if you don't mind."

"Well, as you've yet to impress me, I'll just call you an elf instead of a sex god," Loki retorted.

"Doesn't matter," said Caraphin through a mouthful of mac 'n cheese. "They're synonyms."

"Is this true, Althadar?" Loki asked, grinning.

The addressed elf looked uncomfortable, a blush coloring his handsome face all the way up to the tips of his pointed ears. "You were going to ask Galawyn something? Something important?"

"That was the single most seamless subject shift I have ever witnessed," Loki mocked playfully. "But yes, as you have reminded me, I have some _information_ to extract from Galawyn. Unfortunately for you two—well, _fortunately_ for you, Althadar—I will need to hold this '_interrogation'_ in privacy, so as not to upset the sensibilities of my subject." He walked out of the room, Galawyn obediently falling in behind him.

The destination Loki had in mind was not the most easily accessible in the treehouse, but it was one of the most private in the forest. With ease, he climbed up the tree's sturdy trunk, through a hole in the roof, and several meters higher until he reached the bottom of a structure hidden by the thick leaves of the forest canopy. A little door in the floor granted him access, Galawyn climbing up after him. This structure could not really be called a room, as it had no ceiling, leaving an unobstructed view of the sky—the only one Loki had yet to find in this thick forest.

"So…" Galawyn waited.

And waited. Loki was looking up at the bright sky.

"Are you really going to make a lady climb up a tree without either asking or explaining? Even for you, that's pretty ungentlemanly," Galawyn said indignantly.

That caught his attention, his eyes moving to study the elf with a small frown. "I really do not like it when you imply that I am not a gentleman."

**~BREAK FROM REALITY~**

"Because I-I-I-I I'm a mother-father gentleman."

To Galawyn's great confusion, he began doing a very arrogant-looking little dance with his hips to music that seemed to come from nowhere, and he continued to sing: "ALLANGA MOLLA wae hwakkeun haeya haneun geonji! ALLANGA MOLLA wae malkkeum haeya haneun geonji!"

"Um…what does that mean?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not really…it's quite catchy!" Galawyn started mimicking his saucy little dance as he continued to sing in the strangely alluring foreign language: "Itjanha maRIYA i sarameuro malsseum deuri jamyeon maRIYA! Yonggi paegi tolkki meot jaengi maRIYA! Neoga deudgo peunmal hago peunge nande maRIYA! _Damn, girl! You're so freaking sexy!_"

"You too!"

The music abruptly stopped. Loki sighed. "Oh, sweet she-elf [shelf?], whatever am I to do with you?"

**~BACK TO REALITY~**

He seemed quite serious, more serious than Galawyn had anticipated. She didn't know what to make of it—her barbs had never seemed to bother him before in the slightest.

"I must endeavor not to give that impression again," he said sincerely.

"I really don't care," Galawyn offered, "Whether or not you act like a gentleman around me. For Tolkien's sake, I'm best friends with _Caraphin_! Do you really believe I'm easy to offend?"

Loki's reply was immediate. "Yes. You are." Surprise was clear on Galawyn's face. "You put up a pretty good front, what with your easy sarcasm, blasé attitude, and Butterfly Net of Doom, but I know a thing or two about people, and you have some major insecurities."

"Wha—why do you—"

"I know because I can see it. I can see it whenever a glimmer of seriousness breaks through your sassy demeanor. I can see it in the way you look when Caraphin—happily mated Caraphin—says something just a shade too insensitive. You bear it with grace, but I am a superior observer than they—I notice. Even when you're acting self-righteous, there is yet that little glimmer of desperation underlying it all, so well hidden that I would expect no one else to have realized it.

"I have found it a habit of all the sentient species I have yet to acquaint myself with—and the elves are no exception—to be much less sensitive than the needs of their fellows demand. That, Galawyn, is why I must endeavor to be a gentleman to you. Perhaps it has slipped your mind, but you most likely saved my life when I first arrived in this realm, and have since been much more hospitable than I have been accustomed to or had any reason to expect. It is a debt that I owe you, and the very least I can do is treat your feelings with the respect I wish were afforded to my own."

"Have we not been showing enough respect for your feelings?" she asked, only really taking in some of what he had said. "I'm sorry, I really did think you understood when we were just teasing."

"Now Galawyn, with what you have just learned of my powers of observation and comprehension, do you really believe me unable to distinguish between teasing and genuine malice?" he asked rhetorically. "It is neither you nor any of your people whom I hold to be insufficiently appreciative."

"Oh, well that's good. I want you to like me." She paused, thinking. "Do you like me?"

The corners of Loki's mouth turned up in what could probably be safely assumed to be a small smile. "I do not dislike you." Loki was never very free with his affection.

Galawyn opened her mouth as if to protest, changed her mind, and said instead, "I'll take it! But really, I don't need you to be a perfect gentleman—it would be a suppression of your character, would it not? That would hardly be right of me to ask of you; besides, I like your arrogance—it suits you better than that perfect manners farce."

"Hm." Loki would not admit to the elf how much he appreciated her consideration, and instead decided to tilt this conversation towards levity. "If that be the case," he began with a strong undercurrent of mischief in his words, "Then I believe I will actually be able to ask you what I brought you up here to ask you."

"Oh, about your other names? What do I need to tell you in order for you to tell me your names?"

"I don't need you to _tell_ me anything; rather, I need you to _show_ me something."

"Okay," she agreed cautiously.

"I'll give you one for free—I am widely known as the god of lies, although strictly speaking, falsehood is not my patronage. For the rest, I demand information in exchange."

Galawyn nodded.

"I believe you made some claim to being a member of a race of sex gods?"

The elf was taken aback, but not so much that she could not instantly reply, "It's fact!"

"I'm sure you will understand, but I typically _judge these things for myself_."

Because Galawyn was uncertain of what exactly he was suggesting, she asked him stiffly, "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I merely echo the suggestion I have seen grow increasingly clear in the way you look at me. Before you protest, be reminded that I am the 'god of lies', and you therefore cannot slip a lie past me."

"You presume too much," Galawyn hissed. "Is that not the truth?"

"Do I?" he returned. "I would not have thought it had the thought not first existed in your own head."

"Are you saying you've been reading my mind?"

"There would be no need to—I can read people well enough without such a crutch."

"Even still," she insisted, "You have presumed too much in asking this. I don't know the customs of the place you come from, nor do I expect you to have learned all of ours. I assume that if you had known that elves mate for life, and as such this request equated to asking me to bind myself to you for all eternity, you would not have broached the subject in such a way."

"You are correct in your conjecture—I would not have asked. However, this raises the rather interesting question of why you seem to believe yourself a sex goddess when you apparently have no evidence in support of this claim."

Galawyn decided that she probably wouldn't get anything closer to an apology, so she humored him with a flippant reply: "A girl just knows these things; you wouldn't understand."

"If you say so," Loki allowed her this small triumph as an amends for his preceding faux pas. "And if you would not be uncomfortable in explaining, I wish to know more of how these elfish mating customs run, for surely I must be missing something."

"Alright," Galawyn spoke. "The other races of this realm practice the mating custom of marriage—do you know it?" Loki nodded. "We do not. Many elves choose to remain independent, as our species' long-livedness leads to a lesser instinctual drive to reproduce. Those that do choose to mate only undertake such a great commitment with a total lack of reservations, as it is in our inherent nature to be completely and exclusively monogamous—we can't change our minds later. As such, romantic relationships are restricted to either total frivolity or total devotion."

"I suspect that you desire to find such a match one day."

Galawyn snorted derisively. "What was your first clue?"

Loki shook his head. "So, as I can no longer ask you for proof of your claim, I suppose you shall just have to go without knowing my other names."

"Aw."

"That's okay, I really don't like most of them for everyday use."

"So I guess there isn't really any more purpose for us to be up here," Galawyn thought regretfully.

"Not at all," Loki contradicted her. "I like it very much up here—it's one of the more beautiful places in the Nine Realms. We need no more reason than that to stay."

And there they stayed for much of the day, watching clouds roll across the sky and occasionally exchanging a word or two. Loki was a little put off by the fact that she had rejected him, but he was slightly mollified by her rather sound reason for it. He understood well enough that her strange species was against the impersonal sexual interactions that had been so prevalent throughout his adult existence.

Still, knowledge that one cannot have something makes one desire it all the more.

* * *

Loki had survived for this long by learning from his mistakes. This was why he drank nothing at the party that night.

Galawyn, however, was a different story. Ten minutes into the party, she was halfway through a spiked juice box and completely plastered. She didn't even register the strange Asgardian expletive that her displeased date used as he prevented her from falling into an extremely suspicious looking punch bowl.

"How," Loki stated more than asked the elf as he restored her to equilibrium.

Galawyn gazed at him confusedly, clutching her juice box and suddenly bursting into tears.

"N-no one l-loves meee," she lamented.

Loki was at a loss, having never made a habit of consoling sad people. He hesitantly patted her shoulder, assuring her, "There, there. I'm sure that's not true."

Galawyn instantly took a stranglehold around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder, "I L-L-LOVE YOU S-SO M-MUCH!"

"I should probably take you home now," he informed her, eventually sweeping her up into his arms when she refused to either move or relinquish her hold on him. "Parties don't seem to be a safe environment for you."

As Loki wove his way through the partying elves, he heard someone call over the low roar of the crowd, "Master Silvertongue! Come join me!"

As he turned, the sight that met his eyes served to correct the fact that he had experienced too few truly jaw-dropping moments in his life. For a very long moment, his eyes and his brain held a silent argument between themselves, trying to figure out why his optical receptors seemed to be under the ludicrous impression that there was a pole-dancing elf king a few meters in front of him.

Eventually, his eyes won the argument and forced his brain to tell his feet to move him towards the incredible sight. "Uh-ah-um…" When had his silver tongue turned to lead? "Good evening, Your Majesty?"

"A good evening indeed!" Thranduil agreed as he wound his lithe form around the pole to the raucous cheering of the many watching elves. "I take it young Galawyn has again found herself not quite up to the task of keeping away from the more interesting beverages?"

Galawyn's eyes went wide when she saw the elf king. "You're beautiful!" she gasped.

"And yourself quite fair," he returned with a patronizing smile, pulling a move that made even _Loki_ blush.

"Your Majesty…" Loki began, not quite sure any of his experience in etiquette could be of use here.

"If you're wondering, Master Silvertongue, whether or not I intend to keep this dance at its current level of innocence, I would have to answer that this will depend upon how late you stay and how many drinks you buy me."

As he spoke, a blonde elf approached and climbed unto the platform on which he danced. Loki started when he realized it was Tathar.

"My king!" Tathar spoke over the noise. "We have a situation that demands your immediate attention!"

Thranduil pouted for a moment before leaping off the platform to the general discontent of the crowd. "Stay with me," he said quietly to Loki, who still held a semi-conscious Galawyn. Thranduil followed behind Tathar, Loki closely at his heels.

"What is this matter that merits the interruption of the night's festivities?" a newly grave Thranduil asked the guard.

"A large group of strange creatures have entered Mirkwood," Tathar said anxiously. "They are not Orcs, although they resemble them more so than us—quite hideous really. We do not know what they are, where they come from, or their intent."

"If I may," Loki put it, "I might recognize what they are. If you would allow it, I would look into your mind for the image." At Tathar's cautious nod of assent, he handed Galawyn to Thranduil and placed his palm on the guard's forehead.

The elves were instantly regaled with a stream of Asgardian curses.

"I know them," he ground out. He met the Elvenking's eyes. "They bring with them the promise of conflict, but the fight is mine, not yours. They are called the Chitauri, enemies of mine. They have found me."

"You are wrong," Thranduil assured him. "As my friend and a welcome guest within my kingdom, your fight is mine. You have the aid of my people in repelling these unwelcome advances. If I may ask about the nature of your conflict with them…?"

Loki sighed. "It is a long story, one for which I suspect we do not have adequate time. Just know that they look for revenge, and this revenge is guaranteed to be remarkably unpleasant should it come to pass. Violence is in their nature, but they are neither especially cunning nor creative. From the impression of your people I have collected and my understanding of their number, I would not expect them to pose a serious threat today."

"Very well. Tathar, muster the ranks. Every able-bodied elf to his bow!"

"Right away, Your Majesty!"

As the elf scampered off, Thranduil set off back the way they had come. "We need to go break up that party," he explained. "Actually, I can handle that myself. Here, take this." He handed Galawyn to Loki. "Go prepare for battle, and put her somewhere safe. Meet me in my throne room in fifteen minutes and we will strategize from there."

Loki headed back to the treehouse while Galawyn asked him rather inane questions that he wholly ignored. He set her at the kitchen table, poured her a glass of water, magicked his green and gold armor onto his body—minus his lost helmet, which was exorbitantly ostentatious anyways—and picked up his scepter. He checked that all of his daggers were securely hidden away as he walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Galawyn asked.

"There's going to be a fight. Stay here."

"Don't go!" she cried. "I will miss you!"

He departed without a glance back at the drunken girl. Perhaps he should have spared a backward glance though, for as soon as the door shut behind him, she was stumbling across the treehouse for her Butterfly Net of Doom.


End file.
